now

now, she said, are you happy. i don't know that's the sort of dream i haven't yet woken from. and i said, do the cows in the pasture, do they pray like we pray. and i said, when i walk in the cold until my fingers are not warm, does this mean i hate someone. do i hate the gods we don't have a name for, but press palms together? and the answer was in the mountainside shuddering up toward nightfall. and the answer was her trembling her fingers into her chest: "i'm so depressed." and the answer was a fiery-haired girl now just a thousand miles away who wouldn't answer a text. and the answer was i love you written in roses on the side of a road. and the answer was no.